Mon Lapin
by fleur-de-lis du paris
Summary: The origins of a nickname: A young France brings a gift to his friend who lives on an island across the sea, giving the shy boy his very first rabbit. Baby nations, sunny meadows and fluffy bunnies make for a tiny interlude in the early lives of France and England. Fluff-let. Pure and absolute Fluff. GEN oneshot- No pairings, no warnings. BONUS chapter w/ England's POV now uploaded
1. Chapter 1

Look! A wild, non-RP inspired fanfiction! Catch it, catch it quickly!

Inspiration for this came from a conversation I had with an England RPer about rabbits. Apparently, according to popular belief, rabbits are not native to England. The species may have been introduced by the Normans (French conquerors). After hearing that- I couldn't help but write baby nations and bunnies~

**Warnings: **Hazardous levels of extreme adorableness. Pre-FrUk if you tilt your head to the side and really squint hard, but it could also be taken as pure GEN.

So without further ado...

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**Mon Lapin**

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France stepped onto the rocky shores of the island, this strange, wild place… the land of the Angles. Albion, Britannia—he had heard it called differently, but places didn't change just because their names did.

France himself was a perfect example of that. Just a few centuries ago he'd been nothing more than Gallia: the little Roman territory, the band of wild tribes…

But not now! Now he was France. He was the _Kingdom_ of France, and the little nation preened just at the thought of the title—_now _he was important. And since he was important, he could do things like visit the strange little boy who lived across the great sea.

France smiled to himself as he considered the boy. He was so clever, and so very, very cute…but also quite shy, and he had _such _a temper. The language difference between them was also a point of contention—the boy needed to just give in and learn French already, his own language made no sense and didn't have words for lots of important things in the world

The other child…he was so strange sometimes. France would go to the meadow where they had played before and then the bushes would rustle. A head of wild blond hair would peak out, twigs and leaves decorating those choppy bangs. Green eyes, as deep as the forest they had emerged from, would glare out at him, and a few times he'd had a small but very sharp arrow aimed at his nose. Francis shivered a bit at the thought of those arrows—he knew the boy was very, very good with them. Fortunately, he'd never been shot at, and he intended it to stay that way.

Often the child would actually approach, come and sit beside him, poke at him with stubby baby fingers and question him in a harsh, grating tongue. They played sometimes; France liked to weave daisy chains, crowning them both in flower wreathes. Sometimes the boy would lead him into the forest. They would go mushroom hunting, or chase after the tiny colored lights that always seemed to make the child so excited. He talked to them, chattering excitedly under the shade of ancient oak trees in the verdant forest.

France would watch the fascinating scene—he always watched everything about his little friend. Through many visits, he would carefully observe the way his friend would splutter so fiercely when offended, even though his cheeks were turning an adorable shade of rose pink, the way his nose wrinkled up and twitched when he was confused or happy, the way his eyes would shine with content when he was in the forest… and how skittish and willing to dart back into the bushes he was _every _single time they first saw each other.

They boy reminded him of the small rabbits that the ladies in his home were so fond of playing with (the ones that didn't go to the cook anyway). He didn't think about _those _rabbits, instead choosing to remember the tiny balls of fluff that were so fun to pet and play with…that wrinkled their little noses just the same as his small friend did. To his knowledge, the other boy didn't have rabbits. He had…similar creatures with longer legs and ears, wiry things that he would later come to know as hares. But the island boy had no rabbits…which struck Francis as a shame. He knew the little one liked small, cute things, and he had a feeling he would adore a real rabbit.

That was the reason France had made this trip. In his arms he carried a basket containing a beautiful female rabbit that he had carefully tended to on the passage over, intent on giving her to his friend as a gift and playmate. He hoped the boy would like it—and was almost completely certain he would. The rabbit ought to be able to thrive in the lush woodlands of the other nation's territory, since there were similar plants it could eat for food.

The small immortal straightened out the hem of his new tunic, spinning lightly. He hoped the child might like it…maybe the bright colors and soft fabric would lure him out of his trees and bushes long enough that France could convince him to stay and play with him for a while… and perhaps accept his gift.

He looked around the meadow, calling out softly in his own tongue for the boy, waiting patiently. He knew he'd been heard, and now it was just a matter of patience.

Soon enough though, sparking emerald eyes peeked out from behind a tree trunk, watching the other silently. It appeared France would be spared the bow and arrows today, which was a very good sign.

The older nation smiled brightly as he saw his small friend hesitantly approach. He knelt in the grass, opening the basket to remove a squirming bunny. He cradled her gently in his arms, kissing the top of her fluffy head and gently petting her, hoping that the other boy would approach due to curiosity and see that the animal wasn't a threat.

He knew his plan had succeeded when the cloaked child plopped down in front of him, his face as imperious as ever, though he couldn't hide the interest sparking in his gaze. France smiled at him, shifting his arms to make the bunny seen.

"Hello, little one. I brought you a friend~. I promise she won't hurt you."

He gently offered the rabbit to the child, tucking his arms around her squirming fluffy body. He took the boy's hand, showing him how to gently pet her as he continued speaking in a soft voice.

"She won't bite if you're gentle with her…like with your own friends."

He smiled lightly, before subtly trying to give the other a miniature lesson.

"This is a rabbit, see? A rabbit."

The older boy sounded the words out in French slowly, his tongue gracefully forming the syllables. The smaller blond wrinkled his nose, before forcing out a mimicry that was even slower.

"Un L-ap-in."

He murmured the word under his breath, the sounds unfamiliar to him. Well, perhaps the "un" was a bit drawn out at the end, and the "in" was a bit too short, but it sounded _almost _right, and France was sure with some more careful teaching he could fix the boy's pronunciation.

The small blond boy smiled softly, figuring that was simply the creature's name, not paying attention to the foreign language much. He grinned excitedly, burying his own face into the animal's soft fur as he nuzzled her in his arms.

"Yes, that's very good- a rabbit to be a friend just for you. She is yours now, okay?"

France spoke just as softly, still smiling. The boy was gentle—he'd known he would be. His little friend had a way with animals and plants, and he seemed to be already in love with the fuzzy rabbit. The smaller nation's eyes were lit with adoration and intrigue as he played with the sweet-tempered creature. France sat back in the soft grass, pleased with himself. Perhaps this gift would finally soothe the savage wildling's temper towards him…though he wasn't yet willing to try touching the boy. He'd attempted it once, and now was much warier of attempting physical contact.

Suddenly, France's thoughts were cut short as a pair of tiny but strong arms wrapped around his waist. The rabbit sat on the grass nearby….and the boy…the boy was _hugging_ him tightly around his middle, his face hidden in the other boy's chest as he murmured something unintelligible in his own language.

France looked down in shock, before smiling warmly and gently patting the boy's back. As soon as he touched him, the finicky child was already pulling away, his cheeks scarlet as he straightened out his cloak. He was still speaking, half spluttering as he scolded the older boy, dusting himself off and moving out of hugging range as he gathered the bunny up in his arms once more.

The two young nations spent the rest of the day playing together, laughing as they took turns petting the rabbit. Words were spoken here and there in both languages, but for the most part the only noises heard were innocent giggles and soft coos to the bunny. The island nation was once again graced with a daisy chain, as was the rabbit.

Unfortunately, the sun was fast sinking in the sky. France sighed, knowing it was time for him to go. He stood up, murmuring a quiet farewell to the boy. He began walking off back towards the shore, only to have a small hand tug at his tunic. The shorter boy stood behind him, looking confused as he held the bunny in his free arm, offering it back to France. The older nation smiled and shook his head. He knelt in front of the boy, wrapping both the other's arms around the bunny.

"No, little one. She is yours…she's going to stay with you, okay?" He repeated himself a few times, pointing to the rabbit and then the ground, and then the young nation and the ground, and them to himself and the shores.

The younger boy was sharp, catching on quickly. He stared up at the other for a long moment, before giving a solemn little nod and holding the rabbit closer to himself. Francis smiled softly, wistfully, straightening up and turning around again to leave.

"Au revoir, Angleterre…" He murmured softly as he walked off.

He'd only taken a few steps away when he heard a soft voice speak.

"Fare thee well, France"

The French nation smiled brightly, but didn't turn, walking back to the crashing sea waves, to begin the long journey back to his home, already planning his next visit to his little rabbit…and perhaps he'd get to see the bunny again too.

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Little Cuties!

Stay tuned for a bonus chapter/omake in a few days.

Thanks for reading~


	2. Bonus Chapter

Aiiieee. I am so, so sorry for how long it's taken to get this up. *sweatdrops* But... finals and graduation and roadtrips...

*clears throat* Anyway. As promised, here is the omake/bonus chapter to Mon Lapin. I'm not completely happy with the end of it- but ...eh. C'est la vie.

Enjoy the pointless fluff darlings~

**Warnings:** Slight bit of language at the end, and implied FrUk if you squint.

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Albion glared out of the trees, only to be distracted as a fluffy ear twitched below his nose, causing him to sneeze. His fierce, imposing eyebrows turned even further down and inward as he shifted his glare to the rabbit cuddled in the hood of his cloak, and the one tucked into the front of his tunic… and the one sitting on his shoulder curled against his neck, and the three playing around his feet. The little nation scowled as he remembered there were even more than these running around his forest home.

It had all been _her _fault. The girl nation from across the sea who kept coming to bug him, the one with the stupid dresses and stupid hair, and stupid gentle, almost-too-big hands… She couldn't even speak properly, no matter how hard he had tried to teach her!

It was her fault he was now being overrun with small, fluffy creatures! Her fault that he was now constantly surrounded by little fur balls that were _not _temptingly adorable and sweet-natured and perfect for cuddling with on cold nights…

It had to be some Norman plot, he was sure of it! The girl had shown up with one of the creatures, and then within the next week it had disappeared, and returned a few days later with four more in tow! A while later, there were suddenly eight, and then twelve, and he was fairly certain he'd counted at least nineteen just this morning!

Albion wasn't sure exactly how the girl intended to trap him with this, what the point to her dastardly scheme was—but whatever it was, it was not to be trusted!

Even as he huffed in frustration with the puzzle, one of his fairy friends brought him news. They'd seen a ship land on his coasts the previous dawn, and people approach into his territory. The girl was back.

The blond boy readied his bow and arrows, watching the clearing she always showed up in. By his count, she should be arriving at any minute. Albion resolved that he would teach her a lesson this time- he would threaten her with his sharpest arrow until she took all the creatures away!

Even as she stepped into the verdant clearing (with that stupid, beaming smile present as always), Albion was ready. He held up an arrow to fire a warning shot past her head, curving the fine yew bow with ease born of years of practice, inhaled a deep breath to center his shot….and promptly sneezed violently as another rabbit ear tickled his nose.

He cursed as the arrow flew wildly off target, before flailing ungracefully—the loud sneeze having unbalanced him from his perch. He tumbled out of the bush he'd been hiding in, rabbits falling all about him like giant fuzzy raindrops.

The boy jumped up as quickly as he could, his gaze shooting towards the girl as he heard her laughing—laughing her stupid, _stupid_ laugh! He couldn't stop from blushing furiously as he tried to ignore her, scowling like a thundercloud as he brushed himself off.

He yelled at the girl to shut up and be scared of him, face a mixture of abject humiliation and righteous fury as his fists clenched with irritation.

He tried to go for his bow and arrows, but before he could get to where they'd fallen a few feet away, she was upon him. The girl was squealing something (in her stupid language) as she eyed the rabbits with a mixture of surprise and delight in her deep blue eyes.

Hah! This was his proof. She was pleased her evil plot had worked, and even better than expected from the look of things. He glowered, attempting to get his boy again, but was suddenly caught up in a surprisingly strong hug and gathered against her undeveloped chest. Albion struggled—she knew he knew what her scheme had been and was now going to try and smother him into submission!

The girl murmured more of her gibberish, saying the name she called him (the stupid girl still hadn't figured out he had his own perfectly good name!), as well as the word she'd called the creatures before—lapin, or some such nonsense.

The stubborn little nation tried to resist her warm touch—he would not be swayed from his mission of getting the creatures off his land before the rest of her dastardly plan unfolded! He wouldn't… he wouldn't… no matter how nice it felt to be held against another form, her lips placing a light kiss on his ruffled bed-head as the rabbits cuddled against and between them…

The young boy eventually could struggle no more, collapsing against her as his energy to fight left him, sighing in pure irritation. He fumed silently, scowling even as the original rabbit nuzzled against his cheek.

Stupid girl. Stupid adorable creatures… stupid fuzzy, fluffy, soft fur and velvet pink noses and twitching ears and adorable cottony tails…

It was no use.

Albion sighed, knowing he'd been beaten for now, holding still for a long moment before gently trying to push the girl off him. She eventually acquiesced, captivated by the rabbits as she continued rambling in her own tongue (did the stupid girl _ever _shut up?!) and cooing to the creatures in her arms.

The boy flopped back onto the soft grass, an arm thrown over his eyes in irritation as he grumbled to himself lightly. He scowled again as he felt several of the "lapins" hop onto his chest and legs to use him as a pillow.

Albion grunted, half-heartedly trying to shoo them off, only to be interrupted by the girl pulling him up, mirth and joy dancing in her sapphire gaze. He glared at her, raising an eyebrow demandingly, only to have his eyes to blow wide open as she kissed the tip of his nose, patting his head, before standing up.

He blushed brighter than he ever had before, beginning to shout again. She, of course, ignored him (stupid girl!), skipping off as she laughed merrily, the fluffy creatures bouncing around her feet.

The blond boy leaped up, scattering rabbits to and fro as he immediately chased after her in hot pursuit, the girl still giggling merrily as her longer legs easily outpaced him.

He huffed and panted, face still beet red as he pursued her. The chase lasted so long, when he finally caught up to her collapsed in a giggling heap by a stream, all he could do was weakly smack his fist against her shoulder once before crumpling beside her, trying to catch his breath.

The girl looked over, grinning at him and saying something in her stupid language, but Albion didn't really care. He was tired from the running, and it was so peaceful by the water…and there were cute little lapins curling around him…

Albion spent the rest of the afternoon asleep, his head pillowed in France's lap as the other nation stroked his messy hair, singing lullabies quietly. The rabbits remained gathered round them as the rest of the day passed in an idyllic peace.

Years later, when Albion had become England and France had been made and unmade into someone both new and the same, when blood and tears had been spilled and bonds shattered, when truths and lies had been brought to light, and when the world had crumbled and reborn, both nations would still remember that afternoon. France treasured the memory, often painting scenes he could picture only vaguely after the long centuries. England would never speak of it; going to so far as to leave the Frenchman with a black eye the only time he attempted bringing it up. Nevertheless, they both remembered, and they both knew the other remembered.

Mon lapin, France called him. The name never failed to cause England to blush, remembering the innocent gift, and knowing exactly what connection the French nation held in his mind. No matter what the stupid git thought—he was not, and never would be one of those sweet, shy, affectionate little creatures with the twitching noses and soft bodies that were truly wonderful to curl up with on cold nights…

"Ah- Cher Angleterre! Bonjour, mon petit lapin~."

Damn it all to hell.

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Yes, I do think England at one point thought France was a girl, because he looked and acted like one for a good amount of time, and babies will be babies.

If you don't like it, just replace the pronouns in your mind.

This wraps up Mon Lapin- which I must say has been the most fun thing I've ever written. Thank you for reading.

Feedback will be loved and cuddled and adored forever- just like cute little bunnies~


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